By midmorning, reports of Ãcariya
Mun’s death had spread throughout the adjacent
communities; senior monks and government officials
of all levels had heard the news. All hurried to the
monastery, anxious to pay their last respects to his
body. While gathered there, they conferred with
Ãcariya Mun’s senior disciples to reach a consensus
on the most suitable way to arrange the funeral.
They were determined that it be conducted in a
manner reflecting his exalted status as a
distinguished ãcariya, greatly revered nationwide.
At the same time, they arranged to have news of his
death broadcast over the radio and printed in the
newspapers so that his faithful followers would have
access to the news wherever they might be.

No sooner had reports of his death
begun to circulate than groups of monks and lay
devotees began pouring into the monastery from all
directions to pay their last respects. From the time
his death was announced until the day his body was
cremated, a steady flow of visitors came daily to
pay their respects. People living close by came and
returned home the same day. But those living some
distance away had to stay in the monastery overnight
– transportation being less convenient then, than it
is today.

During Ãcariya Mun’s earlier stay at
Ban Phu monastery, the people who came to see him
had offered so many gifts of various kinds it was
hard to keep track of them all. The amount of gift
offerings he received from the faithful was
extraordinary – a trend which continued until the
day of his death. Like rainwater in the monsoon
season, donations flowed into the monastery in a
continuous stream. In his lifetime he had always
been the recipient of much largess, regardless of
whether he was staying near a population center or
deep in the mountains. Even when staying in the
remotest locations, there were invariably generous
people willing to make the effort to trek through
thick forest so they could offer him something
special. By nature, Ãcariya Mun was always generous
and self-sacrificing: he gave away everything he was
offered to assist others. He never thought of
keeping things for himself and he never regretted
his beneficence. He gave away everything he
received, irrespective of what it was or how much it
may have cost. In terms of actual poverty, perhaps
no monk was poorer than Ãcariya Mun. The combined
amount of all the donations he received during his
life was prodigious, but the amount he gave away in
charity was equally as great, if not greater.
Whatever he was given, he very soon passed on to
someone in need. Even on occasions when he had
nothing to give away, he thought of other ways to be
of help, though he did this unobtrusively. His
beneficence often provided nearby monasteries with
much-needed assistance. As the result of a life of
self-sacrifice, even after his death people from all
over the region continuously arrived with offerings
to place before his body as it lay in state at Wat
Suddhawat monastery.

Prominent senior monks, in
consultation with local government officials,
decided that it would be best to keep Ãcariya Mun’s
body for several months before proceeding with the
cremation. Agreement was reached that the cremation
should take place during the period of the waxing
moon in January of 1950. With this in mind, they
arranged a special casket to hold the body.

At four o’clock that afternoon, a
large crowd of laity, monks, and novices came to
attend the funeral bathing rites for his body. When
this ceremony was completed, his body, still draped
in his monk’s robes, was wrapped in many layers of
white cloth and placed respectfully in the special
casket. The casket’s entire front panel was made of
glass, allowing those coming from afar, who had
never before seen him, to view his body. No one was
to be disappointed. The community of monks, headed
by Chao Khun Dhammachedi, decided to arrange nightly
sessions of sutta chanting to honor him, accompanied
by discourses on Dhamma, which were always well
attended.

All the various functions connected
with Ãcariya Mun’s funeral were organized with the
generous cooperation of the local populace. From
government officials and business leaders down to
the general public, all contributions were made in a
spirit of geniality. Sincere in their faith, they
took these responsibilities very seriously,
never losing heart.
From the day Ãcariya Mun passed away until the time
of his cremation, the people of Sakon Nakhon put
forth a concerted effort to make life as convenient
as possible for the monks and novices gathered there
for the occasion. They worked tirelessly, with
enthusiasm, to insure that this huge funeral
ceremony was an unqualified success, and spared no
effort or expense in the process.

In the months leading up to the
cremation, hundreds of monks arrived in Sakon Nakhon
wishing to pay their final respects. Most then
returned home, but over one hundred remained,
residing in the monastery to help coordinate all the
necessary arrangements. Despite the large influx of
monks, local residents never felt discouraged; the
faithful were prepared to support them each day with
plenty of alms food. The lines of monks receiving
food every morning seemed to stretch on forever, but
people remained unstinting in their generosity from
the first day to the last – on not a single day was
alms food in short supply. Even with the increasing
demand, ample food offerings were always graciously
provided to support the monks.

I witnessed the enormous sacrifices
these people made during that period, so I feel
obliged to record for posterity their charitable
goodness and amicable cooperation. It made such a
deep impression on me – I shall never forget it. I
never imagined I would see so much patience,
endurance, and self-sacrifice shown by one group of
people. Having experienced this incredible
outpouring of generosity firsthand, I want to
express my admiration to the people of Sakon Nakhon:
they possessed a magnanimous faith that never waned.
Their grand hospitality has left me with a warm
feeling of gratitude – an impression that will
forever remain in my heart.

One had to sympathize with the monks
and novices, staying at the monastery, who helped
supervise suitable arrangements for all the people
attending the funeral, and with the many lay
supporters who toiled so hard, helping with the
labor. Well in advance of the cremation date, monks
and novices were already arriving in large numbers,
while the cremation ceremony was expected to attract
a crowd of well over ten thousand people. Several
pavilions were constructed to house people, and as
many kitchen areas as possible were set up around
the grounds to accommodate the large crowd that was
expected to attend this important occasion. Begun
shortly after Ãcariya Mun passed away, these
preparations were completed just in time for his
cremation.

As the day of the funeral ceremony
drew near, monks and lay devotees flooded in from
all directions, their numbers swelling until those
charged with receiving them were hardly able to
cope. The closer it came to cremation day, the
greater the multitude of people pouring into the
monastery. In the end, no more space could be found
to accommodate the hordes of people who kept
arriving. By funeral day, all the huts were full,
and the whole extensive tract of forest within the
monastery grounds was crowded with monks and novices
who had traveled from all over the region. Most of
them camped out in the woods, their white
umbrella-tents visible everywhere. A total of eight
hundred monks and novices were camped out inside of
Wat Suddhawat alone; several hundred more found
shelter in nearby monasteries. In all, well over a
thousand monks and novices were present at Ãcariya
Mun’s cremation. As for the lay devotees, it was
simply impossible to count how many were camped
inside the monastery grounds. Over and above that,
many more people stayed outside the monastery,
sleeping under trees or out in the open fields. Many
more slept in town, filling up all the limited hotel
space. With the entire multitude finally assembled
at the funeral pyre on cremation day, it was
impossible to give an accurate reckoning of their
total strength. At best, one could estimate that
tens of thousands were in attendance that day.

And yet, strangely, amazingly, there
was very little of the kind of noise usually
associated with such a crowded ceremony. Only the
sound of the public address system was heard,
broadcasting the religious functions being performed
in connection with the cremation. Performed strictly
in accordance with kammaååhãna tradition, there were
no sideshows to entertain the crowd. The quantities
of food, cloth, and other items, that were offered
by devotees from all over the region to help the
monastery with the funeral, amounted to a small
mountain of goods. Hundreds of sacks of rice were
offered, while the cars of faithful donors
continuously brought food of all sorts to help feed
everyone. The quantity of merit-making cloth,
offered in honor of Ãcariya Mun, would probably have
filled a weaving factory. I’ve never seen a weaving
factory and I have no idea how big they are, but I
am confident that this mountain of cloth brought by
faithful followers from all over the country would
have exceeded the capacity of any such factory.

I wish to apologize to the reader if
this seems an exaggeration. I was somewhat carried
away by a sense of pride I felt concerning the
offerings of so many generous people. I never
imagined that we Thai people could be so generous.
But witnessing this wonderful display of munificence
personally, I have continued to be amazed by it ever
since. Self-sacrifice and bounteous generosity are
hallmarks of the Thai people. From a global
perspective, Thailand is but a small country, yet
our compassionate tendency to engage in spontaneous
acts of charitable giving is second to none. It is a
tradition that is entirely appropriate for a country
like ours with a Buddhist heritage that teaches us
to have compassion for one another. On the whole, we
Thais have always been a nation of warm, big-hearted
people who tend to shun narrow-minded, stingy
attitudes.

Nowhere was this more apparent than
at Ãcariya Mun’s funeral, where faithful donors
offered an abundance of items for general
consumption. The
bounty was truly extraordinary. The sizes of
the enormous pots of rice and stew prepared each day
were almost frightening. These pots were so big and
heavy that several people were required to carry
them to the pavilions where the monks gathered to
eat. Due to the unusually large number of monks,
many different eating places were set up to
accommodate them. Most of them ate in large groups –
thirty to forty monks here, fifty to sixty monks
there – at locations set aside for that purpose
within the grounds. Smaller groups of nine to ten
monks ate together in the monks’ living quarters.
The vast majority of them were kammaååhãna monks who
ate directly from their alms bowls, so large
quantities of dishes and eating utensils were
unnecessary, making it much easier to serve so many.
Sets of dishes were provided only for the relatively
few, prominent administrative monks and those
accompanying them.

Once the pots of rice and stew had
been offered, monks served themselves in order of
seniority, placing rice, stew, and assorted sweets
together in their alms bowls. This was normal
practice – they invariably mixed their food in that
way. The religious faith of the general public and
the protective power of Ãcariya Mun’s spiritual
greatness combined to ensure that food was always
plentiful.

For the duration of the funeral,
there were no instances of drinking or drunken
behavior, no quarreling or fighting, and no cases of
theft were reported. When found, lost articles were
handed over to someone in authority who announced
them over the loudspeakers. If the item in question
was something valuable, the announcer did not
describe it. He said merely that a valuable item had
been found and urged the owner to come and claim it.
Having correctly identified it, the item was
returned to him. If the lost article was something
common, the announcer simply described what had been
found so the owner could then reclaim it. If it was
money, he announced only that some money had been
found, but the amount and its container – such as a
wallet – were not mentioned. The owner was required
to supply this information as proof of ownership.

The funeral ceremonies preceding the
cremation of Ãcariya Mun’s body lasted a total of
four days and three nights. The entire event was
remarkable in many respects. To begin with, despite
the enormous crowds, there was very little noise; no
fights or wild, drunken behavior anywhere in the
area, no pickpockets, and no thefts reported. Lost
valuables were promptly handed over to the
authorities; all monks and novices were calm, quiet,
and very well-behaved. In any gathering of such
size, it is unusual to meet with even one of these
favorable conditions. Having them all combined in a
single event was truly remarkable indeed.

Beginning at eight o’clock each night
the monks assembled to chant suttas in honor of
Ãcariya Mun. The laity then offered gifts of cloth
to the monks, one of whom gave a discourse on Dhamma.
Again the next morning after the meal, members of
the laity began presenting traditional offerings of
merit-making cloth to the monks, offerings which
continued with no fixed schedule throughout most of
the day. During the four-day period, there were so
many faithful devotees, traveling such great
distances, hoping to dedicate offerings of cloth,
that it would have been impractical to restrict
those offerings to scheduled times. The issue was
resolved by permitting lay people who wanted to
dedicate offerings of cloth to a monk, or a group of
monks, to make their dedications as quickly and
easily as possible. Those arriving with cloth to
offer were advised to contact the announcer and
specifying to him how many monks they required.
Using the public address system was by far the most
convenient method, since it was almost impossible to
find a specific monk in such a large crowd in any
other way. So if certain devotees wanted to invite a
specific monk to come and receive an offering, his
name was announced on the public address system. The
announcer had a complete list of the names of all
the monks in attendance. All visiting monks and
novices were required to register their names at the
announcer’s booth as soon as they arrived, and an
announcement to this effect was broadcast on a
regular basis. This policy allowed the organizers to
make an accurate estimation of the number of monks
and novices attending the funeral ceremonies. It
also enabled the announcer to call out their names
correctly when required.

Monks walked to the nearby villages,
or into town, for alms every morning. The only
exception was the day of the cremation itself. On
that day, the laity made a special request that the
monks collect food in the immediate vicinity of the
monastery. The faithful lined up in groups at
various places inside and outside the monastery,
placing offerings into their bowls as the monks
filed past.

The ceremony began on the tenth lunar
day of the third lunar month and ended at midnight
on the thirteenth lunar day with the cremation of
Ãcariya Mun’s body. The special casket containing
Ãcariya Mun’s body was placed on an ornate funeral
pyre, specially constructed for the cremation. Built
on the site where the uposatha hall presently
stands, it was a four-sided wooden structure
decorated with intricately carved motifs that
skilled craftsman had created for the auspicious
occasion. It looked very impressive – worthy of such
a distinguished ãcariya. His remains were later
collected on the morning of the fourteenth lunar
day. Unfortunately, I cannot recall the day of the
month according to the international calendar.

To the best of my recollection, his
body was placed there on the eleventh lunar day. As
they prepared to move his body from the pavilion
where he lay in state, the monks and the laity held
a short service to ask his forgiveness for any past
transgressions they might have committed. The casket
containing his body was then carried solemnly to the
funeral pyre, prompting a dramatic outburst of
emotion among his followers as they expressed their
grief once more. Watching his body pass by for the
last time, the crowd looked on with long, sad faces,
tearful expressions occasionally erupting in cries
of anguish. It was a chaotic scene, his casket
moving slowly through throngs of impassioned
supporters, all mourning the loss of an
exceptionally noble person who possessed such a
boundless ocean of loving kindness. Many in the
crowd wept openly as his body passed by. It was all
they had left of him – the last vestige of
conventional reality still associated with his
presence in the world. He had entered the sublime,
pure land of Nibbãna. Never again would he return to
physical, bodily existence – the domain of tearful
lamentations.

His devotees wept one last time –
with affection and respect for a man whose Dhamma
teaching had soothed their hearts and tempered their
ignorance. Through his grace, they had gained
the presence of
mind needed to reflect on the merits of
virtue and the failings of evil. Reminded of his
great virtue, they longed to keep his body awhile
longer as an object of veneration, though they knew
this was now impossible. So they asked only that
they be allowed this final chance to offer their
tears and heartfelt emotions as tokens of their deep
appreciation.

Although they may have been
unfortunate in many ways, they did have the
wonderful good fortune to witness for themselves the
final farewell of a supreme sage, sublimely free of
all kilesas – an extremely auspicious event that is
rarely ever witnessed. Having transcended saÿsãra’s
abundant misery, he had already reached the Ultimate
Happiness of Nibbãna. Even so, they continued to
hope that his compassion would be with them in this
hour of sorrow – a sorrow that made them weep with
longing for that noble being of unbounded virtue who
was so dear to their hearts. They wondered when they
would ever find a way to escape Mãra’s net and
reached the safety of Nibbãna as well. But their
time was not yet ripe. All they could do was extol
his extraordinary virtue and honor his magnificent
achievement with their tears. Such was the
overwhelming sentiment of the Buddhist faithful as
they mourned the loss of the monk they so revered.
Only when his body had finally been placed upon the
funeral pyre did they begin to calm down and grow
quiet.

At midnight the funeral pyre was lit.
In anticipation, such a mass of people had crowded
in around the cremation site that no one could move.
Packed tightly together, they pushed and pressed
against one another trying to get a better look. All
had patiently waited late into the night to have one
last glimpse of his body – a memory to be long
cherished by everyone.

Just as the funeral pyre was lit,
something unimaginably strange and wonderful
occurred. As the first flames began to shoot up, a
small cloud appeared in the sky and began to rain
ever so gently on the burning pyre. It was the night
of the full moon. Bright moonlight was shining over
the surrounding area, but the cremation site was
suddenly bathed in a fine, misty rain. Softly
sprinkling for about fifteen minutes, the cloud then
gradually faded into the clear night sky. You may
wonder why I think it so strange. Normally, at that
time of year, the sky is completely clear; only the
stars and the moon are visible. And so it was that
night, until the funeral pyre was lit, when a small
cloud floated over, sprinkling a gentle shower on
the whole proceeding. I clearly witnessed this
amazing event – such an extraordinary spectacle I’ve
never forgotten it. Anyone who was there that night
will be able to confirm it.

Instead of the usual pile of firewood
or charcoal, Ãcariya Mun’s funeral pyre was made
with fragrant sandalwood that ardent devotees had
specially ordered from across the Mekong River in
Laos. Having acquired a sufficient amount, they
mixed it with incense, using this as a pyre to
cremate the body. The results were just as
satisfactory as those obtained by using plain
firewood or charcoal. From the moment the pyre was
lit until the cremation of his body had been
completed and his remains had been safely collected,
the whole affair was supervised by officials from
the monastic and lay communities.

At nine o’clock the following morning
the bone remains were carefully collected from the
ash. Bone relics were distributed to monks
representing the various provinces in attendance
with the understanding that these relics would be
placed in suitable public shrines in their
respective locales. Fragments of bone were also
handed out to members of the general public, but due
to the size of the crowd, there were not nearly
enough to go around. As far as I can recall,
representatives from over twenty provinces took bone
relics back with them that day.

When the collection and distribution
of the bone relics were finally completed, something
indescribably moving happened that made a profound
impression on me. As soon as the officials in charge
of collecting the bones had finished their work and
left, a scene of total confusion ensued as men and
women of all ages rushed in to collect bits and
pieces of ash and charcoal to keep as objects of
worship. Everybody scrambled to get a bit of this or
a piece of that, combing the ground around the
funeral pyre for any small momento they could find.
In the end, the whole area was spotless – as if it
had been scrubbed clean. Walking away, each person
seemed to be floating on air, smiling, over-joyed
beyond words. All clasped some small keepsake in
their fists, guarding their treasure jealously, as
though afraid someone might try to snatch it away at
any moment. Like so many other events occurring
during the course of Ãcariya Mun’s funeral, it was
an extremely moving sight.

Later, as their last act of homage
before going home, most people returned one more
time to the site of the cremation – the final
resting place of Ãcariya Mun’s body. Prostrating
themselves three times, they sat quietly on the
ground for a few moments in an attitude of deep
reflection, expressing their sense of loss with
tears and quiet sobs in a way that was heartrending
to witness. As I watched those people who felt such
profound gratitude for a monk of surpassing virtue,
I shared with them the same painful sense of loss.
When their moment of quiet reflection was over, they
rose and sadly walked away, their faces stained with
tears. Other faithful devotees then took their
places, solemnly paying their final respects, aware
that they had lost the person they so dearly
revered. And so it continued for many hours that day
– it was an incredibly touching scene to watch.

The key factor here is the heart: the
heart is the most important thing in the world.
People’s hearts were the primary force behind all
the events I have just described. Tens of thousands
of monks and lay people attended the funeral – their
motivation for going came directly from the heart.
Their hearts were instinctively drawn to Ãcariya Mun,
for his heart was pure Dhamma – an attainment so
sought-after that it induced good, moral people from
all over the country to come to worship him.
Although their hearts may not have amassed as much
virtue as they would have liked, it was still enough
to create in them a tendency toward future rebirth
as human beings. This is unlike the hearts of
shameless people who seem to be vying for rebirth in
hell or the animal world – types of birth that
result in endless suffering. Rebirth in the lower
realms of existence effectively debases the heart
even further. Eventually, nothing of value is left
to hold on to and all hope is lost.

All matters, without exception,
converge at the heart: the heart is the driving
force churning out the affairs of this world and
determining the direction they take. If the heart is
inclined toward goodness, everything a person does
will bring contentment, both now and in the future.
All paths branching off from the main avenue of
goodness will invariably provide comfort and
security to the virtuous wayfarer. Each rebirth will
be a happy, prosperous one where hopes and desires
are constantly being fulfilled. One day, that
accumulated virtue is bound to lead to the most
cherished goal of all. Witness Ãcariya Mun, whose
heart was a wellspring of goodness from the
beginning stages to the very highest one.

Ãcariya Mun has been widely glorified
for his attainment of Parinibbãna. The word
Parinibbãna is used solely in connection with
someone absolutely free of all kilesas. When the
average person stops breathing, bringing his
physical existence to an end, this condition is
known as ‘death’. But when the Lord Buddha or an
Arahant dies, this is Parinibbãna. It is generally
presumed that Ãcariya Mun’s death was also
Parinibbãna, a conclusion I have no reason to
dispute. I gladly yield to the verdict of all those
fine people who have given him this prestigious
epitaph. For many years I lived with him, listening
closely to his every word, and I found nothing
contradictory in his way of life or his Dhamma
teaching. In truth, his teaching so profoundly
impressed me that I am convinced it was amatadhamma,
emanating from a heart of genuine purity. A heart of
such pureness is by no means inherent within human
beings. To experience it, one must take the heart of
an ordinary human being, then cleanse it until it
becomes the pure heart of an Arahant – there is no
other way. This purified heart then remains
ariyacitta ariyadhamma forever.

Saying that the heart is the most
important thing in the world means that the heart is
the decisive factor controlling all manifestations
of good and all manifestations of evil. The heart is
the principal actor, and the one ultimately held
accountable for all actions. If people’s hearts
motivate them to act in evil ways, the entire planet
can easily be destroyed as a consequence. Thus, it
is essential that our hearts should receive enough
proper training and care so that we can safely look
after ourselves and the world we live in. Then we
will live in comfort, our lives free of undue
disturbance; and the world will be a pleasant place
to live, without the specter of strife constantly
hanging over it.